Page 78 of The One-Night Heist

“Like you do?” he snapped, and I dropped my hand, realizing he wasn’t playing anymore.

Ruh-roh.

“Giano!” Franz called out from deeper in Mick’s lair, and my billionaire’s eyes widened in alarm. “Oh, my God.”

I swear, if Mick started a striptease…

Giano strode down the hallway, leaving me to hustle to catch up. When we reached their location—his art studio—I saw what was making Franz lose his shit.

Mick’s annoying as fuck, God-given talent.

“It’s completely to scale, too.” My foster brother leaned against the wall with a smug expression as Franz gaped at the enormous canvas. “I couldn’t even tell ya how many hours I’ve spent staring at the Botticellis in the Uffizi.” He goddamn winked at me again. “Management lets me in for free since I’ve helped them out with a few things over the years.”

I bet you have.

“It’s Primavera!” Franz exclaimed, apparently Mick’s biggest fan now. “I remember seeing the original with my father when I was younger.”

“Your old man’s an art lover?” Mick cocked his head, zeroing in on his prey once again.

Daddy Pinstripes grinned, and even I had to admit he was kind of pretty when he stopped scowling.

Not as pretty as my man, though.

Ugh, Rowen, stop…

“My father owns a famous gallery in New York City…” Franz mused, examining the artwork from inches away. “Inspired after this very painting, coincidentally.” He glanced at Mick over his shoulder. “Do you show anywhere?”

My foster brother shrugged, that smug-as-shit expression still fixed on his face. “I don’t need to. My patrons keep me busy, like with Primavera here—my most recent commission. Just need to get it framed to match the one in the Uffizi and poof, it’ll be gone.”

Franz turned to face him, back to his signature frown. “You were commissioned to reproduce Primavera?” His gaze wandered around the chaotic room, taking in the full scope of Mick’s suspiciously familiar work. “You… only create reproductions?”

Mick pushed off the wall. “You could say that.”

I watched with immense pleasure as realization washed over Franz’s sometimes pretty face.

That’s right, Daddy Pinstripes.

You’re in the presence of a master.

By the time I’d joined Mick and Lucy’s household when I was pre-teen, our foster parents had already figured out he had talent. This meant art classes and competitions, and once Mick realized he could make money with nothing but a paintbrush, our little shell game was left in the dust.

It hadn’t taken long after that for Mick to figure out the real money was in forgeries, so the next logical thing was to bring me on board to lift the art in the first place.

Quickest fingers in the business.

With Lucy’s ability to hack into nearly any security system, we were a sought after team, but over the years, we’d each forged our own path—pun intended. I stayed in New York, Lucy landed in Tokyo, and Mick settled down in Florence where he had no shortage of wealthy patrons who sometimes doubled as fuck buddies.

“You’re an art forger…” Franz murmured, the emotions on his face a delightful cocktail of devastation and fascination.

“Okay!” I clapped my hands together, eager to get this show on the road. “Who’s ready for a drink? Then we can discuss where we’re⁠—”

“We’re leaving,” Giano growled, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck, making me freeze in a way I’d never experienced before.

Well, shit.

I normally didn’t allow others to manhandle me—or truly top me—because that meant giving up control to someone else. There had never been anyone I trusted enough for that, which was why even the slightest show of dominance coming from someone else usually had me going into fight or flight mode real quick.

Mostly fight.